One Step Closer to The Edge
by TeamEdward
Summary: Esme has nothing left. Her baby is gone, her abusive husband is back from the war in Europe and suicide is the best, yet worst option. A lead up to the events prior to that fateful night when Carlisle finds her. PreTwilight. FINISHED.
1. Chapter 1

**One Step Closer to the Edge**

_**Memo: Please note that a lot of the information that is in this little piece is NOT made up. There is a lengthy and very amazing biography on Esme Cullen which can be found on the Twilight Lexicon; the information that is there has either come from the books or directly from Correspondences with Stephenie herself. Some names, I do realize, are made up. I made them up for the sake of calling someone by name instead of calling them 'boy' or 'girl'. On that note, I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this piece. All the credit for the brilliance goes to Stephenie Meyer who is, did I mention, brilliant?**_

The wind whistled past her ears, whipping Caramel strands of hair about her as she stood in the clearing, her feet perched meters away from the ledge of a steep and ravenous incline. A small forest stood in silent witness as her eyes – sad and hollow, lifeless -- drifted down over the edge; the point of no return. The baby was gone, her abusive husband Charles, was back home from the war in Europe, and there was nothing left. Not for her, not anymore. The foliage behind her small frame, shuddered, groaned as if in silent pleas; they begged her not to jump, not to take her life. What was there to do? Who was there to help her now? Her parents had told her that the abuse she had taken from Charles was nothing to be talked of, nothing to hold against him and she tried to keep it to herself, tried to conceal the darkened skin tones his 'non-existent' abuse left in its wake. What would have happened to the baby if she had stayed? Would he have been safe from Charles' abuse, sheltered from the pain? For how long would he be safe? How long could she continue running like this? She had taken a job as a school teacher in the nearby town, but school teachers didn't normally move around so much, people would notice, word would spread, Charles would find her; and if not him, her family would find her. Like they had back in Milwaukee last time while staying with a second cousin, and she would have to move again; this time away from Ashland. What was the point now though? The baby was dead; infection of the lungs had taken him faster than it had taken to carry him in her womb; he hadn't even had a name yet…

Taking an unsteady step towards the edge of the cliff, she looked down, her cheeks streaked with wet trails leading down to her chin and jaw line; hair clinging tenderly to the moistened skin as the wind brought it life, strands dancing around her sullen and disheartened features. One step closer to the edge and it would all be over. No more Charles, no more abuse, no more pretending, no more running. This would be a final and definite end to a life of misfortune, mistakes and botched dreams. Just one step… a quick and inexpensive cure-all.

---

**Outskirts of Columbus; 1911**

"Esme!"

A wheat field glistened dazzlingly in the setting sun and danced sweepingly in a warm afternoon breeze; a crude trail cut through the very heart of the golden sea as a man trampled the stalks frantically underfoot, his eyes wide in search.

"Over there!" A boy cried, his lanky form trailing behind the visibly older man, his arm outstretched and his fingers jabbing the air, pointing to the ending of the wheat maze.

"Esme! I told her god knows how many times not to climb that tree!" The man yelled, murmuring the last part more to himself than to the boy who served as his Shepard through the unknown.

"I told her not to!" The boy whined in reply, stumbling after the fellow before him as the older man broke through the edge of the wheat field.

A white form lay crumpled under the closest tree; the frame under the light clothing heaving and sobs reaching the man's ears as he approached, his gait quick, panicked. "Esme?"

"I'm sorry daddy…" The small girl sobbed lowly, tears streaking her face, her eyes puffy and red from crying, her leg twisted oddly beneath her.

Reaching down, the man gingerly scooped her up in his arms, "We have to go to the hospital." He stated to the small boy at his side, his eyes full of worry as he looked down on the shaking girl in his arms. "Get the automobile, Richard."

---


	2. Chapter 2

_**PLEASE NOTE: If you have already read the first chapter, it has since gone under some slight edits and there are little parts that you may not have read. So just check it out and make sure you're up to date with the changes. Thank you.**_

The hospital hummed lowly, a few people bustled around here and there, passing with trolleys and patients. The long drive from the outskirts of Columbus had ensured that night had already fallen when the Ford Model T pulled up outside of the hospital.

"Mr. Platt, please calm down…" A nurse instructed placidly from behind a neat counter that matched her crisp white uniform. "We're trying our best."

"Your best? My daughter is in pain and you can't get a doctor?!" The man roared a look of worry and anger mixed in his features as he quickly looked at the teenaged girl sitting in a nearby chair, waiting as tears silently slid down her cheeks.

"Sir, you have to understand that our resident doctor – Dr. Hammond – is away." The nurse explained, remaining strong against the cross fire of loud and angered words. "I'm looking here, but I don't see –"

There was a moment of silence as the nurse flipped through a small stack of papers, her fingers skimming through the sheets at varying speeds until she stopped on one near the end of the pile and her finger scanned down the list. Stopping on one name, "We have a Dr. Cullen available if that's –"

"I don't care, she just needs medical attention." Mr. Platt agreed quickly, cutting the nurse short before he turned and scooped Esme up in his arms again, waiting for further instruction.

"Follow me please." She sighed, briskly picking up a yellowed folder and stepping around the desk, clicking down the hall directly to the man's right.

---

"Dr. Cullen?" The nurse spoke in a quiet manner, her knuckles rapping on the opened door only slightly as Mr. Platt stood decidedly impatient behind her.

"Come in."

Obeying, the nurse clicked into the room, approaching a man who had his back turned, handing him the folder before clicking away back toward the awaiting Mr. Platt.

"Set her down there and please follow me Mr. Platt," The nurse instructed, pointing to a table in the middle of the room. Hesitating slightly, Mr. Platt did as he was told and entered the room, setting Esme down carefully on the table almost reluctantly.

"Follow me sir." The nurse reminded once again, dutifully waiting for Mr. Platt to follow her to the waiting room, ushering him out when he finally returned to the door which she closed after him with a soft 'click'.

The doctor was young to say the least. Blond hair glinted elegantly under the lights of the small room as golden eyes -- framed by what looked to be permanent, dark purple, almost bruise-like skin tones under his actual eyes -- scanned the papers in the folder he was holding in his pale hands.

"Esme Platt, am I correct?" The doctor finally spoke, looking up and closing the folder in his hands.

"Y-yes," Esme stuttered, the words catching in her throat as she watched the doctor's movements closely, almost entranced.

"I'm Dr. Cullen." The doctor -- Dr. Cullen -- smiled warmly, approaching the small girl. "Now, what happened to you?"

"I fell out of a tree..." Esme explained; her voice wavering in octaves as the words left her lips. "I wasn't supposed to be climbing it but I-"

"And how old are you Miss. Platt?" Dr. Cullen questioned again, picking up quickly when he realized the conversation had lulled slightly.

"Sixteen and a half." Esme started, gasping in pain slightly when she felt the doctor's cool fingers touching her tender, swollen leg as she sat and answered his questions.

"Tell me Esme," Dr. Cullen started, his eyes drifting up to meet hers as he spoke, "did you hear anything when you fell?"

"No... I fell, looked and my leg was twisted. It hurts to move." The words escaped her lips easily; somehow she felt calm in his presence, assured... he was gentle; she saw it in his strange, yet alluring, golden eyes.

"I see."

Biting her lip, Esme inhaled slightly before she dared ask the question that she both dreaded, yet needed the answer to. "Is it bad?"

"Not particularly. From what you're telling me and what I'm seeing, it looks to be just a hairline fracture..." Dr. Cullen smiled, appraising her twisted leg from a small distance now. "We'll set it and put it in a splint. Give it three weeks or so and it should be as good as new."

In that moment he smiled again, his eyes bright as he looked at Esme sitting there. Golden eyes that held years of impossible knowledge a gentle disposition, filled with compassion and care that his appearance of age seemed to rebut; Esme never forgot those eyes.

---

**Ashland 1926 **

The small town hospital was quiet, the clicking of a nurses' heels echoing through the white and sterile hall every once in a while, a phone ringing in a high pitched tone from behind the main desk.

"Good afternoon, Amelia." A man spoke, a small smile on his face as he approached and placed a clip board on the counter between the nurse and himself.

"Good afternoon Dr. Cullen," The nurse replied, mirroring the same look, her eyes locked – shining brightly – on his handsome face. "The ambulance team just came in with a DOA that needs confirmation. They asked me to ask you if you would confirm it."

"Of course; I should have enough time before my shift ends," Carlisle nodded, his eyes never drifting to check the clock behind the nurse as she ruffled some papers and clipped it to the board before handing the board back to him; a smile growing on her thin lips as she watched Dr. Cullen pace away toward the morgue.

---

The room was cold, but Carlisle felt no different. The stench of blood and death clung to the insides of his nostrils and burned slightly as Carlisle pushed the swinging door open in front of him, entering the morgue as he had on many other occasions before this one.

A cold metal slab, a lifeless corpse, a once white sheet smeared and splotched with blood as it covered the victim's body out of respect; a delicate hand, peeking out from under the veil of red and white… decorated with a simple band, a wedding band Carlisle assumed. For times like this, Carlisle was thankful the thing lurking inside him did not hunger… not for the blood of humans at least.

The ambulance attendant interrupted Carlisle's silent examination.

"Found her outside of town, bottom of one of the steep inclines. It looks like a suicide." The man replied in a hardened manner, one that came with years of playing witness to horrible accidents and tragedies as he handed a few papers over to Carlisle. "You think you can take it from here, doc?"

"Yes, thank you." Carlisle responded lightly, elegantly. The man before him took a deep breath at the response, taking one last long glance at the cadaver on the metal tray the man headed towards the door on his way out, but paused soon after reaching it.

"It's a shame about these things… really it is." Taking another deep breath, the man sighed and was out of the morgue before the doctor could comment.

The sympathy, Carlisle knew, was genuine; sincere… the man truly felt regret for the poor creature, recently forfeit of life at her own hands that now lay before Carlisle. Clipping the sheets to his clipboard along with the others, Carlisle scanned them briefly without too much notice. The visible injuries recorded on the sheet, he noted, did indeed seem typical of a suicide related death.

Taking his eyes off the papers on the board in hand, Carlisle approached the slab without caution. What he would find under the blood stained sheet would not disgust him, would not turn his stomach horribly…

Grabbing the hem of the sheet, Carlisle pulled it back over the paled, crimson blotched visage. The Caramel strands of hair that fell around her face and onto the metal beneath her were no longer soft and beautiful but matted with dried blood, tangled with twigs and meshed with clumps of mud whetted by more crimson liquid.

Studying her face momentarily, Carlisle sighed, it was indeed a waste…. Reaching up, Carlisle pressed cold fingers to cold flesh, his long slender digits pressed against the hollow of the corpse's throat; searching for a pulse he knew he should not find.

… Yet there it was. Shifting his fingers, Carlisle waited in silence for another moment, something strange stirring inside of him as he stood in the cool room. There it was again, yes, this time he was sure… a faint beat, a pump of a weak heart trying to circulate blood. He had heard it, so quiet, so stuttering…

Glancing down upon her face, Carlisle eyes softened as his golden eyes scanned each cut and scrape, the damage was extensive, but he could tell she was beautiful. Moving a piece of hair from her face, it was then that something clicked…

Stored in a distant memory, Carlisle knew that face… and in an instant, something came over him, a feeling he recognized to have come over him only once before. Only once before when he sat beside Edward's bed all those years ago as the Spanish Flu ravaged the poor boy, weak and frail. Watched and was pained as he could do nothing _natural_ to ease his suffering…

With one more glance upon her beautiful face, Carlisle knew what he had to do; she was far beyond saving, far beyond natural help and he knew he could not watch her die...

**END**


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